Call Me! (19 page)

“What?”

“You were wild last night,” he says. Then—I’m not making this up—he winks at me!

“It was nice,” I say.

“
Nice
? It was
fantastic
! Best sex we ever had, by far!”

I keep stirring my soup. If it doesn’t cool off soon I’ll probably put an ice cube in it.

“Don’t you agree?” he says.

“Huh?”

I fill the spoon with soup and put it to my mouth. It’s still steaming, so I blow on it gently, and say “Thanks for taking care of dinner tonight.”

“My pleasure.”

“That was really nice of you.”

I swallow the soup and wince at the temperature, then pick up the entire container and blow on it. It’s so hot it makes my hand uncomfortable just holding it.

Ben says, “Was last night the best sex you ever had?”

I feel like setting my hair on fire and running from the room. Why must he keep going on and on about last night? A few of the minutes were nice. But I also cried myself to sleep afterward.

I know what he wants to hear:
Last night was the best sex of my life, Ben! Wow, what a lover YOU turned out to be! You’re like a god in the bedroom, and I can’t wait till the next session!
But I don’t want to encourage him. I see him looking at me, waiting for an answer. What was it he asked? Was last night the best sex I ever had? I shrug and say, “I guess.”

Ben says, “I never heard you cry out like that before. And the way you touched me toward the end—”

“Ben?”

“Yes?”

“Can we not talk about last night?”

“Why?”

“It’s weird talking about it the next day.”

“You’re embarrassed?”

“A little.”

“I don’t understand. You’re a woman. You’re supposed to want to talk about everything. Especially relationships. Here I’m trying to talk about our relationship. Last night was a very happy surprise and I was hoping you had a great time too.”

“You weren’t asking about us having a great time, you were asking if we had great sex.”

“What’s the difference?”

“Seriously?”

He thinks a minute while we eat. “Okay,” he says. “I can understand how the two might be different things to you. But I was having a great time
during
sex, and it seemed you were, too.”

“I was.”

“So you weren’t pretending,” he says.

“Of course not.”

“Okay, then.”

“But that doesn’t mean I want to talk about it the next day.”

“That’s the part I don’t get.”

I sigh. “Sex is an in-the-moment thing. If I start thinking you’re going to review and critique my every move the next day, I’ll probably just lie there like a statue next time.”

He sets his jaw angrily and says, “Thank you so much.”

“I don’t understand your tone.”

“You just managed to suck all the fun out of last night.”

I put the soup container back on the table and stare at the man I’ve lived with all these years, the one who’s angry because I gave him the best sex of his life last night. I pleased him so much we’re actually
fighting
about it tonight? Does
that
make sense? And am I really expected to apologize for hurting his feelings over the fact I don’t want to rehash every gasp, shudder, and moan I made? Is there a Guinness category for how many apologies a person has made in a day? Because I may be closing in on it. In the last eight hours I’ve apologized to Sophie, Roy, and Dillon. And now Ben? Well, why the hell not?

“I’m sorry,” I say. “I’ve had a shit day. That’s my only excuse.”

“What happened?”

“Let’s just try to enjoy dinner and put this day behind us, okay?”

“Fine.”

Moments later Ben grabs his lower stomach and runs to the bathroom.

“Don’t eat the moo shu pork!” he yells.

Right. Like I’d ever do that in the first place!

THURSDAY MORNING

“LET ME GET this straight,” Meg Worthington says. “You’re trying to fix me up with your husband?”

“Yes.”

“Your
current
husband.”

“Yes.”

“Because?”

“Ben’s a great guy, and he deserves a great woman.”

“But
you
don’t want him.”

“I didn’t say
that
.”

“Wait—are you trying to set up a
threesome
?”

“No, of
course
not!”

“You’re what, trying to dump him gracefully?”

“Sort of. It’s complicated.”

Meg eyes me closely. “Does he still love you?”

“Yes.”

“Doesn’t sound complicated to
me
. Would you like to know what
I’m
hearing you say?”

People who talk like that tend to have some couch experience.

“Yes,” I say.

“I’m hearing you say Ben’s not good enough for
you
, so you’ve been looking around and decided that out of all the single women you know, Meg Worthington must be the most desperate.”

“
What
?”

“So desperate is Meg Worthington, she’d
jump
at the chance of dating a married man who’s still in love with his wife!”

“No, that’s not it!”

“You said your husband deserves a great woman.”

“He does!”

“And you’ve selected me?”

“Yes.”

“Have we ever spoken?”

“Of
course
!”

“Beyond discussions about yoga?”

“Well…”

“Don’t wrinkle your pretty little face worrying about it. The answer is we
haven’t
. So you don’t know if I’m a great woman or not.”

“Well, you
seem
really nice. I mean, you’re always pleasant…”

“That’s about to change.”

“I didn’t mean to offend you, Meg. I honestly thought I’d be doing you both a favor.”

She looks at me with amazement. “How did you expect this to work, Dani? Was I supposed to flirt with him, try to get him to go out with me? See if I could talk him into cheating on his wife?”

“Yes. I mean, he’s available Monday and Tuesday evenings. I thought maybe I could prep you about him, and you could sort of bump into him and—”

“You’re insane!” she says.

I watch her walk down the hall, heading toward the gym exit. But as she passes the snack bar she sees two friends and quickly pulls them into a gossip huddle. She’s animated, they’re stupefied. Now her friends are staring at me in horror. Sophie was right. This plan to find a woman for Ben isn’t going to work.

My cell phone rings. Caller ID shows Patrick Aub.

“Hi Pat.”

“Your boy came through.”

I’m so off my game it takes me a few seconds. “
SeanInPain
?”

“That’s the one.”

“But I only told you about him yesterday!”

“Believe it or not, the kid’s got a merchant account. Cheryl authorized payment for the shower pix, he sent her the download link.”

I take a deep breath. “And?”

“The quality’s outstanding.”

“Pat?”

“Yeah?”

“Did you mean to say that?”

He laughs. “I forgot you didn’t know.”

I frown. I still don’t know. I turn my back to Meg and her friends so I can use a more confidential tone on the phone.

Pat says, “Hold on, I’ll forward you one.”

“Wait. Are we breaking the law here? This is underage porn, right?”

I hear a gasp behind me and realize someone heard what I just said. I turn and see Meg standing there bug-eyed, with her mouth gaping open. Apparently she has something else to say, though I doubt she’s changed her mind about dating Ben. I hold up my index finger and whisper, “Just a sec, Meg.”

Pat says, “I just sent you the picture. Who’s Meg? One of your hot friends?”

I turn away from Meg and whisper, “Is it legal?

Pat says, “The law’s currently fuzzy on this.”

For a second I forget about Meg and say, “How can it be fuzzy if she’s underage?”

“OMIGOD!” Meg shouts, and storms off. “OMIGOD!” she shouts as she walks past the snack bar. “OMIGOD!” as she exits the building.

I wonder how my comments about the law could have had such a major affect on her, so I play them back in my mind, and realize she only heard my side of the conversation, including:

This is underage porn, right? Is it legal? How can it be fuzzy if she’s underage?

I have to face the facts. I have no right to lecture Dillon. Communication isn’t my strong suit, either.

Pat says, “Let me know when it comes through.”

Within seconds my phone shows I’ve got a download available. I click it and see
SeanInPain’s
naked sister in the shower. Pat’s right, the quality is outstanding.

But what I’m looking at is not a photograph. It’s a beautiful full-color, cartoon-type drawing.

I click back to Pat. “I don’t understand. What type of drawing is this?”

“It’s called anime.”

“Well, whatever it is, it’s depicting an underage girl taking a shower.”

“Like I say, the law’s fuzzy on this issue.”

“Who says?”

“Cheryl Goodman.”

“Cheryl works in sex crimes?”

“Believe it or not, we have an Internet Crimes against Children unit. Cheryl says they’re trying to establish laws against pornographic anime depicting minors. But as you can see, some of these perverts are highly-skilled artists, and they’re demanding First Amendment rights.”

“Does
Sean
even have a sister?”

“We don’t know yet, but Cheryl doubts it. Her best guess is
Sean’s
a middle-aged woman, and her internet rap about being a teen with an underage sister’s a marketing ploy.”

“
Sean’s
a
woman
? That’s quite a leap Cheryl’s made.”

“A woman who happens to be a highly-skilled artist. Look at the picture again.”

I do.

“What about it?”

“According to our police sketch artist, the cutie-pie style suggests a female hand.”

“That sounds sexist.”

“Our sketch artist
is
a woman.”

“Oh.”

Pat gives me a quiet moment to think about it. Then I say, “But what about the degenerates who
buy
these pictures?”